China: On and off the beaten path
Today I took a cab to a place in Shanghai called The Bund, which is an area along the riverfront that shows China’s more modern side. It is studded with banks and corporate offices, many of them foreign. For instance, just in one small cluster I saw Kyocera, HSBC, LG, Bayer, and NEC, right alongside Chinese firms like Lenovo. The buildings are impressive and Western-styled, but with that slightly Asian look like they have in Hong Kong. You can tell it’s not New York—- in fact, it is New China.
The Bund has a broad terrace beside the Huang River, built especially so people could get a better view and take pictures. I strolled along it, viewing the Oriental Pearl TV Tower and Jin Mao Tower across the river, and watching the tour boats and commerce barges steaming through the brown water.
There are a number of gardens and wooded areas along The Bund, as well as a brick plaza with a large statue of Chairman Mao. I had arrived around 8:30, still in time to catch some of the early-morning exercises going on. People had tape players and were doing qi gong or tai chi in groups. In the brick plaza, people were dancing! One couple twirled about doing a modified waltz, and another lady improvised what looked more like a rock-and-roll dance to the fast music. Some other people batted a badminton birdie around. All of this was largely over by 9 am.
I couldn’t help noticing the heavy police presence. There seemed to be officers about every 40 yards. I also saw an interesting sign that had a series of “rules” that people needed to follow at The Bund. Mostly they pertained to keeping the social order. Everyone needed to obey the rules and could not participate in any “repugnant” activities (the English translation really used this word). Notably, there were no beggars asking for money like I had found near the Jade Buddha Temple and the museum. (Although one guy tried to sell me some postcards, and another offered me fake Rolexes. Maybe the police would later pick these fellows up). And there were tons of clean-up crew dressed in blue jumpers, sweeping up every bit of dust and trash as soon as it appeared.
All in all, it was clearly a very controlled place, and the intention seemed to be demonstrating that China was modern, rich, and Western-looking. I even found a public bathroom that was very clean. It offered Western toilets (rare), was scented with incense, and cost 1 RMB to use. (The fee is trivial—- about 14 cents—- so I’m not totally sure of the purpose. Maybe just as a minor gate to “the wrong kind of people”?).
On the taxi ride over, we had passed through an interesting-looking market section, so I headed back in that direction. I knew it was at least a mile away, but figured I’d try to find it. I never did, but I had lots of other adventures!
After passing out of the east end of The Bund, things got more straggly. No more big buildings, mostly just small shops and apartment buildings. And farther on, I entered a somewhat poor section where people sold goods in the street. Sometimes they seemed to be a couple of people selling things from near their tiny house—- perhaps fruit, or yarn, or cloth, or shoes. The living structures were ramshackle, with laundry hanging across the narrow streets, dubious-looking liquids trickling into drains, snarls of electrical wires hung low (sometimes with laundry on them!). The road traffic consisted of a roiling mix of pedestrians, bicycles, carts, motorbikes, and the occasional car, blaring its horn to make way.
This area was not desperately poor—- the people looked like they were surviving just fine within their self-constructed local economy. They chatted in the streets, set up tables to play cards, and slapped each other’s backs. They looked at me, then looked away. I was odd, but not totally novel. And it was clear that I wasn’t there to pick up radishes or pig’s feet for dinner, much less a skein of wool.
A few square blocks of this section were devoted to being a hopping food market. Suddenly the half-residential look became more like a full-fledged street market. Shallow pans holding all types of fish and eels lined the road. Bins overflowed with nuts, mangoes, bananas, shellfish, live crabs, and vegetables. Chicken parts you’ve never seen, pig parts you might not want to see. One guy was stacking frozen pig carcasses like logs—- they made a clacking sound like wood striking tile. As usual, I couldn’t identify everything I was seeing.
Suddenly, a rickshaw selling greens from the middle of the street was carted to the side. Then other vendors began gathering up their wares and pulling them back toward the edge of the street or into nearby storefronts. Down the crowded street, I could see a minivan approaching. At first I thought maybe it was an ambulance and people knew to get out of the way. But it had no flashing lights or siren. And some of the pedestrians were grinning, laughing, and talking amongst themselves. They knew what was going on, and it wasn’t an emergency.
I stood over to the side, figuring I should wait while it passed by, but other pedestrians were just flowing along normally; only the vendors were parting like the Red Sea. So I pushed up to the minivan to see what it was.
It was a government vehicle with two officials inside. The label on the door read “Inspection.” As I (and a small crowd of Chinese) watched, one official jumped out, went to one of the vegetable vendors, and began taking the baskets of food and putting them in the back of the government truck. Tomatoes, greens, and other things were packed away, and then the truck was closed up and driven off. The vendors, now surrounded by a group of people they seemed to know, had expressions on their faces that I couldn’t read. Anger? Resignation? It was inscrutable—- at any rate, they weren’t terribly emotional.
As quickly as it happened, it was over. The crowd dispersed, the other vendors put their stuff back on the street, life went on. I had the feeling I had seen something important, but didn’t quite know what, or how to process it.
[In discussing this event with work colleagues later, I learned that my boss had seen the same thing happen at a night market in Taipei. All the goods vanished in a matter of 30 seconds, and then a police vehicle cruised through. Apparently it's an issue with not paying for the right permit. I'm not sure if that was precisely the same sitaution or not, but it's clearly related].
A bit farther on, I spotted a pagoda roof, and went over to see it more closely. This neighborhood seemed an unlikely place for a fancy building. It turned out to be a Confucian temple, and you could buy a ticket to go in for 10 RMB. Why not? I paid my fee, and was instantly approached by a young, smiling Chinese woman who said she would guide my tour. Wow, a personal tour!
Her English was pretty good, once I got used to her rather thick accent. She clearly had a knack for languages, given that she told me she had only studied English during her four years at university. If she came to an English-speaking country, she’d be a whiz in no time.
She started out with all the official stuff about how the temple was 800 years old and had been visited by the Emperor several times. We saw the great hall with the statue of Confucius and some of his philosophy inscribed in the stone walls. I started asking questions. How many Chinese are believers in Confucianism? Not many, she said. Mainly young students (elementary school) and their parents, who use the practical philosophy as a guide for ethical behavior. Also some business people and government officials use Confucian philosophy to wield power wisely.
I asked what the difference is between Confucianism and Buddhism. She was very clear on that one: Confucius was a real person, whereas the Buddha was a god. She even compared this temple to the Jade Buddha Temple, which she seemed to feel was a place for sentiment and blind faith, whereas Confucius offered something more tangible.
Next we saw a hall filled with stones of interesting shape. The sign said they were “grotesque stones, enchanted stones, and power-filled stones.” I pointed out the word “grotesque,” and asked what it meant in application to these stones. She said other English-speakers had noted that word also, and had suggested that “unique” might be a better term. I agreed. Apparently the stones are said to have a protective quality, which is why some Chinese houses have a large stone of interesting shape in the garden.
There was also a “teapot museum” with pieces donated by private owners. They reminded me of the pottery exhibits at the Shanghai Museum, since they came from various dynasties and had a various artistic styles. She told the story of one tea set that had been found by a farmer in his field. He vaguely realized that they might be ancient and valuable, but he wanted them for his household. So he kept the pieces and used them, at first. But then his children broke a few, and he began to regret keeping them, so he told a government official that he had them. They were taken and donated to the museum for all to enjoy. She made of point of saying that the government knew best about old relics, and it was always the right thing to tell them about anything that is found because it might be valuable.
By the way, this teapot display was in the part of the temple that used to be a library. My guide noted that all the books had been taken and destroyed during the Cultural Revolution.
Next we went to a part of the temple that was once used as a classroom. Now it housed wood carvings made from tree roots and branches that had intrinsic shapes sort of like the final piece. For instance, there was a phoenix made from a piece that had streaming roots that resembled the tail. Also some very nice carvings of rabbits, dragons, deer, and mythical figures.
One was an elephant, but my guide showed me how she liked to look at it from the backside because, to her, it resembled a guitar from that angle. She said she liked music very much, so I asked if she played the guitar. Oh no, she said. Her mother had told her that girls could not do things like that. “In your country,” she said matter-of-factly, “if you want to do something, you can just do it freely. But in my country, we must always obey our parents, and cannot choose to do things. For instance, if I have a baby, that will mean I have to do that, and not other things.” (She was in her mid-twenties).
Wow. You can never tell when you’re going to get through the “official” veneer. Or maybe I was still blocked by it. After all, she didn’t express any personal feelings about these statements. It was unclear if she was satisfied with how things are or not. Or perhaps that issue does not matter.
Then we saw a hall with various donated art objects. These were pretty nice things! Carved jade, statues, silk screens, carved wood and marble—- quite elegant. They also had price tags on them, and tended to cost in the range from $80-$500. She told me quite a bit about the history and symbolism of them, such as the meaning of the set of three statues representing happiness, wealth/status, and long life. And how pine trees are used as a symbol for long life because they are evergreens. I mentioned that I had been to the Shanghai Museum and was impressed with the long timespan of Chinese history—- so many centuries, millennia even! America, I pointed out, was founded just 225 years ago, so it is a very young country. She smiled at that.
She showed me a special book where they have recorded the names of people who “helped the temple.” All of the names were Western, written in English! She meant that they had helped by buying something at the store. I pretended to miss the implication, and just went on oohing and aahing at the art objects, asking questions now and then.
Lastly, we stopped by the pagoda. It had three stories, which is why I was able to spot it over the temple wall, and she explained that every year they choose the top three students from the neighborhood schools, and array them on the pagoda. The best student gets to go all the way to the top, the second one stands on the second floor, and the third-best on the ground floor. All the others gaze upon them as they are told, “Study hard and you too can stand in the special pagoda.” I wonder if it works.
I decided to ask a final question. I told my guide about the incident I had just seen with the “Inspection” truck and the scurrying vendors and the seized baskets of vegetables. Innocently, I asked what they were doing.
She looked uncomfortable beneath her composed visage (if I read it correctly), and replied that sometimes the vendors were blocking the street so traffic could not get through, and this wasn’t good. I persisted by asking why the goods had been taken away in the truck. This time she laughed a bit and said, “Maybe I know but just can’t say it. I was a history major in school, not English. So I really can’t express it.” I paused for a second, then said, “I understand. At least your English seems very good for what you are doing here at the temple.” She thanked me for the compliment and turned to point out the garden and carp pool.
At the end, she asked if I needed the washroom, then proceeded to wait while I went there. It had, of course, Asian squat toilets, but was otherwise reasonably clean. I was armed with my tissues, so it was no problem. But I smiled at the fixtures there. The squat toilet was of the brand called “American Standard”—- you’ve probably seen that brand in public toilets in the US. I didn’t realize they supplied Asian countries too. But what a hoot! That toilet was certainly not a “standard” American one!
We said goodbye at the temple gate. She wished me a good visit in China, and I wished her good luck in life. I asked if she’d ever been outside of China, and she said no, she had just traveled between her hometown, far to the west, and Shanghai. She had been in Shanghai for about a year. I wonder what path she will wend through life. And I’m glad we intersected briefly for what turned out to be nearly an hour-long private tour.
I had been trooping around for more than 3 hours, and was tired. I ate the Asian pear I was carrying (picked up at breakfast in my hotel), then caught a cab back to the hotel. Unfortunately, I have to do some work this afternoon in preparation for continuing with business tasks tomorrow.
This brief interlude of free time in Shanghai—- both on and off the beaten path—- has been a treasure.
The Bund has a broad terrace beside the Huang River, built especially so people could get a better view and take pictures. I strolled along it, viewing the Oriental Pearl TV Tower and Jin Mao Tower across the river, and watching the tour boats and commerce barges steaming through the brown water.
There are a number of gardens and wooded areas along The Bund, as well as a brick plaza with a large statue of Chairman Mao. I had arrived around 8:30, still in time to catch some of the early-morning exercises going on. People had tape players and were doing qi gong or tai chi in groups. In the brick plaza, people were dancing! One couple twirled about doing a modified waltz, and another lady improvised what looked more like a rock-and-roll dance to the fast music. Some other people batted a badminton birdie around. All of this was largely over by 9 am.
I couldn’t help noticing the heavy police presence. There seemed to be officers about every 40 yards. I also saw an interesting sign that had a series of “rules” that people needed to follow at The Bund. Mostly they pertained to keeping the social order. Everyone needed to obey the rules and could not participate in any “repugnant” activities (the English translation really used this word). Notably, there were no beggars asking for money like I had found near the Jade Buddha Temple and the museum. (Although one guy tried to sell me some postcards, and another offered me fake Rolexes. Maybe the police would later pick these fellows up). And there were tons of clean-up crew dressed in blue jumpers, sweeping up every bit of dust and trash as soon as it appeared.
All in all, it was clearly a very controlled place, and the intention seemed to be demonstrating that China was modern, rich, and Western-looking. I even found a public bathroom that was very clean. It offered Western toilets (rare), was scented with incense, and cost 1 RMB to use. (The fee is trivial—- about 14 cents—- so I’m not totally sure of the purpose. Maybe just as a minor gate to “the wrong kind of people”?).
On the taxi ride over, we had passed through an interesting-looking market section, so I headed back in that direction. I knew it was at least a mile away, but figured I’d try to find it. I never did, but I had lots of other adventures!
After passing out of the east end of The Bund, things got more straggly. No more big buildings, mostly just small shops and apartment buildings. And farther on, I entered a somewhat poor section where people sold goods in the street. Sometimes they seemed to be a couple of people selling things from near their tiny house—- perhaps fruit, or yarn, or cloth, or shoes. The living structures were ramshackle, with laundry hanging across the narrow streets, dubious-looking liquids trickling into drains, snarls of electrical wires hung low (sometimes with laundry on them!). The road traffic consisted of a roiling mix of pedestrians, bicycles, carts, motorbikes, and the occasional car, blaring its horn to make way.
This area was not desperately poor—- the people looked like they were surviving just fine within their self-constructed local economy. They chatted in the streets, set up tables to play cards, and slapped each other’s backs. They looked at me, then looked away. I was odd, but not totally novel. And it was clear that I wasn’t there to pick up radishes or pig’s feet for dinner, much less a skein of wool.
A few square blocks of this section were devoted to being a hopping food market. Suddenly the half-residential look became more like a full-fledged street market. Shallow pans holding all types of fish and eels lined the road. Bins overflowed with nuts, mangoes, bananas, shellfish, live crabs, and vegetables. Chicken parts you’ve never seen, pig parts you might not want to see. One guy was stacking frozen pig carcasses like logs—- they made a clacking sound like wood striking tile. As usual, I couldn’t identify everything I was seeing.
Suddenly, a rickshaw selling greens from the middle of the street was carted to the side. Then other vendors began gathering up their wares and pulling them back toward the edge of the street or into nearby storefronts. Down the crowded street, I could see a minivan approaching. At first I thought maybe it was an ambulance and people knew to get out of the way. But it had no flashing lights or siren. And some of the pedestrians were grinning, laughing, and talking amongst themselves. They knew what was going on, and it wasn’t an emergency.
I stood over to the side, figuring I should wait while it passed by, but other pedestrians were just flowing along normally; only the vendors were parting like the Red Sea. So I pushed up to the minivan to see what it was.
It was a government vehicle with two officials inside. The label on the door read “Inspection.” As I (and a small crowd of Chinese) watched, one official jumped out, went to one of the vegetable vendors, and began taking the baskets of food and putting them in the back of the government truck. Tomatoes, greens, and other things were packed away, and then the truck was closed up and driven off. The vendors, now surrounded by a group of people they seemed to know, had expressions on their faces that I couldn’t read. Anger? Resignation? It was inscrutable—- at any rate, they weren’t terribly emotional.
As quickly as it happened, it was over. The crowd dispersed, the other vendors put their stuff back on the street, life went on. I had the feeling I had seen something important, but didn’t quite know what, or how to process it.
[In discussing this event with work colleagues later, I learned that my boss had seen the same thing happen at a night market in Taipei. All the goods vanished in a matter of 30 seconds, and then a police vehicle cruised through. Apparently it's an issue with not paying for the right permit. I'm not sure if that was precisely the same sitaution or not, but it's clearly related].
A bit farther on, I spotted a pagoda roof, and went over to see it more closely. This neighborhood seemed an unlikely place for a fancy building. It turned out to be a Confucian temple, and you could buy a ticket to go in for 10 RMB. Why not? I paid my fee, and was instantly approached by a young, smiling Chinese woman who said she would guide my tour. Wow, a personal tour!
Her English was pretty good, once I got used to her rather thick accent. She clearly had a knack for languages, given that she told me she had only studied English during her four years at university. If she came to an English-speaking country, she’d be a whiz in no time.
She started out with all the official stuff about how the temple was 800 years old and had been visited by the Emperor several times. We saw the great hall with the statue of Confucius and some of his philosophy inscribed in the stone walls. I started asking questions. How many Chinese are believers in Confucianism? Not many, she said. Mainly young students (elementary school) and their parents, who use the practical philosophy as a guide for ethical behavior. Also some business people and government officials use Confucian philosophy to wield power wisely.
I asked what the difference is between Confucianism and Buddhism. She was very clear on that one: Confucius was a real person, whereas the Buddha was a god. She even compared this temple to the Jade Buddha Temple, which she seemed to feel was a place for sentiment and blind faith, whereas Confucius offered something more tangible.
Next we saw a hall filled with stones of interesting shape. The sign said they were “grotesque stones, enchanted stones, and power-filled stones.” I pointed out the word “grotesque,” and asked what it meant in application to these stones. She said other English-speakers had noted that word also, and had suggested that “unique” might be a better term. I agreed. Apparently the stones are said to have a protective quality, which is why some Chinese houses have a large stone of interesting shape in the garden.
There was also a “teapot museum” with pieces donated by private owners. They reminded me of the pottery exhibits at the Shanghai Museum, since they came from various dynasties and had a various artistic styles. She told the story of one tea set that had been found by a farmer in his field. He vaguely realized that they might be ancient and valuable, but he wanted them for his household. So he kept the pieces and used them, at first. But then his children broke a few, and he began to regret keeping them, so he told a government official that he had them. They were taken and donated to the museum for all to enjoy. She made of point of saying that the government knew best about old relics, and it was always the right thing to tell them about anything that is found because it might be valuable.
By the way, this teapot display was in the part of the temple that used to be a library. My guide noted that all the books had been taken and destroyed during the Cultural Revolution.
Next we went to a part of the temple that was once used as a classroom. Now it housed wood carvings made from tree roots and branches that had intrinsic shapes sort of like the final piece. For instance, there was a phoenix made from a piece that had streaming roots that resembled the tail. Also some very nice carvings of rabbits, dragons, deer, and mythical figures.
One was an elephant, but my guide showed me how she liked to look at it from the backside because, to her, it resembled a guitar from that angle. She said she liked music very much, so I asked if she played the guitar. Oh no, she said. Her mother had told her that girls could not do things like that. “In your country,” she said matter-of-factly, “if you want to do something, you can just do it freely. But in my country, we must always obey our parents, and cannot choose to do things. For instance, if I have a baby, that will mean I have to do that, and not other things.” (She was in her mid-twenties).
Wow. You can never tell when you’re going to get through the “official” veneer. Or maybe I was still blocked by it. After all, she didn’t express any personal feelings about these statements. It was unclear if she was satisfied with how things are or not. Or perhaps that issue does not matter.
Then we saw a hall with various donated art objects. These were pretty nice things! Carved jade, statues, silk screens, carved wood and marble—- quite elegant. They also had price tags on them, and tended to cost in the range from $80-$500. She told me quite a bit about the history and symbolism of them, such as the meaning of the set of three statues representing happiness, wealth/status, and long life. And how pine trees are used as a symbol for long life because they are evergreens. I mentioned that I had been to the Shanghai Museum and was impressed with the long timespan of Chinese history—- so many centuries, millennia even! America, I pointed out, was founded just 225 years ago, so it is a very young country. She smiled at that.
She showed me a special book where they have recorded the names of people who “helped the temple.” All of the names were Western, written in English! She meant that they had helped by buying something at the store. I pretended to miss the implication, and just went on oohing and aahing at the art objects, asking questions now and then.
Lastly, we stopped by the pagoda. It had three stories, which is why I was able to spot it over the temple wall, and she explained that every year they choose the top three students from the neighborhood schools, and array them on the pagoda. The best student gets to go all the way to the top, the second one stands on the second floor, and the third-best on the ground floor. All the others gaze upon them as they are told, “Study hard and you too can stand in the special pagoda.” I wonder if it works.
I decided to ask a final question. I told my guide about the incident I had just seen with the “Inspection” truck and the scurrying vendors and the seized baskets of vegetables. Innocently, I asked what they were doing.
She looked uncomfortable beneath her composed visage (if I read it correctly), and replied that sometimes the vendors were blocking the street so traffic could not get through, and this wasn’t good. I persisted by asking why the goods had been taken away in the truck. This time she laughed a bit and said, “Maybe I know but just can’t say it. I was a history major in school, not English. So I really can’t express it.” I paused for a second, then said, “I understand. At least your English seems very good for what you are doing here at the temple.” She thanked me for the compliment and turned to point out the garden and carp pool.
At the end, she asked if I needed the washroom, then proceeded to wait while I went there. It had, of course, Asian squat toilets, but was otherwise reasonably clean. I was armed with my tissues, so it was no problem. But I smiled at the fixtures there. The squat toilet was of the brand called “American Standard”—- you’ve probably seen that brand in public toilets in the US. I didn’t realize they supplied Asian countries too. But what a hoot! That toilet was certainly not a “standard” American one!
We said goodbye at the temple gate. She wished me a good visit in China, and I wished her good luck in life. I asked if she’d ever been outside of China, and she said no, she had just traveled between her hometown, far to the west, and Shanghai. She had been in Shanghai for about a year. I wonder what path she will wend through life. And I’m glad we intersected briefly for what turned out to be nearly an hour-long private tour.
I had been trooping around for more than 3 hours, and was tired. I ate the Asian pear I was carrying (picked up at breakfast in my hotel), then caught a cab back to the hotel. Unfortunately, I have to do some work this afternoon in preparation for continuing with business tasks tomorrow.
This brief interlude of free time in Shanghai—- both on and off the beaten path—- has been a treasure.
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